


Put your quarter down on me

by monanotlisa



Category: Fringe
Genre: Amber!verse, Bisexuality, Blueverse Meets Redverse, F/M, case-file-flavoured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid- & post-ep for 4x02 <i>One Night In October</i></p><p>This our Olivia may play her cards close to the chest. But know this: she does play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put your quarter down on me

  


"Did you miss me?" he asked after a couple of minutes of silence in the car.

She turned her head then; much easier to look at him that way. Lincoln Lee didn't look any different now than all those times during her... _stay_ on the other side; Olivia thought she'd earned the right to look at it as more than the kidnapping it originally had been. "I missed the file in your cake."

Lincoln's mouth didn't quite smile, but the wariness was dissipating, and he held himself less stiffly now. "I had to do it, you know."

Olivia felt that little frown form on her own forehead. "Going along with Walternate's plans at first, or lending me a hand when I escaped?"

"Both. And it was more of a finger." Now he smiled. She'd forgotten how blue his eyes were: not steel like John's; more of an overcast sky in summer. "I told Liv, by the way."

"You -- what?" Olivia prided herself on her composure, but this version of Lincoln Lee had been picking at it many weeks ago, and was doing it again right here. She leaned in to whisper...okay, _hiss_ at him. "She told the Secretary in turn!"

He looked indignant. "She did nothing of the sort; she wouldn't after learning the truth. I know her -- have known her for years. Besides," he glanced down for a split second, long lashes sweeping his cheek (and fine, this she missed), "I can't keep a secret from my friends; I'm total crap at it."

There was that, Olivia thought. For a Fringe Division team leader, the man sure could talk. She'd been grateful for it at the time, of course; someone to get information from, even non-sensitive data that allowed her to map that strange, strange world over there. And the fact he was still here meant that either Fauxlivia had kept quiet after all, or Walternate's plans were even more dastardly than throwing him into the deepest dungeons for defying that supposed world-saving plan of activating the Machine by assisting the Key in her escape.

Wait, what was McClennan saying about chairs there --

::

The supposed minute at the end turned into three, and through some wicked twist of the universe, the were alone for most of them: Broyles was sorting through three pink-coloured form sheets with the sergeant manning the archway to the Bridge, Fauxlivia not having returned there in the first place.

Just Olivia and Lincoln again.

"We did good, tonight." His voice was quiet, but sure. "Weird as it was, we worked."

She couldn't deny it. She thought of her own Lincoln Lee, new and more than a bit lost, but so bright at the same time. She'd watched Lincoln and Fauxlivia carefully, their wordless communication and the understanding they so clearly shared. Perhaps there was something to being one half of a duo of field agents again, after John. After three years. Perhaps in all universes Olivia Dunham was meant to have a Lincoln Lee with her.

But with this one she had a complicated history -- not complicated as in _culpable_ ; he had not been in on the kidnapping in the beginning and had helped her in the end. Now, after seeing him with Fauxlivia, live and in glorious technicolour, she knew why too: because this Lincoln Lee has been in love with Olivia Dunham all along. He probably didn't realise it, but even here and now, his eyes in the half-light of the warehouse were hopeful.

On impulse (which she generally didn't yield to -- there it was again: him making her act rashly) she reached out and brushed her fingers across the back of his hand. "We did work well together. Thanks, Agent Lee."

He turned his hand around at that, maybe also because she just didn't draw it back quickly enough. Or quickly at all. His fingertips slid across her palm from the underside, warm and dry. Olivia's throat was suddenly a bit dry too, but still, she didn't retreat, and let him slowly lace her fingers with his. "Lincoln," she said, and the dryness was making it hard to swallow too. Or speak. She stared down at both their hands. "This is crazy."

"No it's not." Soft yet firm. "You know it's not crazy at all."

"I'm not her." Okay, this was not what she had thought she would be doing this morning when she jumped out of bed: having a heart-to-heart with the doppelgänger of her new partner far across the universe.

He only clasped her hand tighter, but, Olivia noted, not unpleasantly at all. "I know, Olivia. I know."

For one surreal moment, she feared he would lean in and try to kiss her. But then Broyles -- their Broyles -- barked out a short command, and her feet were carrying her across the threshold, into the actual Bridge and beyond. She was home again, and home for dinner too. Only that it felt different now. She thought back to his first question in the car with both of them alone.

Olivia was pretty sure that the next time he'd ask, she'd be forced to say _Yes, I did_.

::

Not that he asked her the next time around. Assumed, more like, Olivia thought, and felt a slight spike of irritation at the knowing little tilt of his mouth.

And yet, when given the chance after wrapping up this first day of chasing what looked like (but probably wasn't) the Mothman through the hills of West Virginia, she told their Broyles over the telephone that thanks-but-no-thanks: It was more sensible not to go back through the Bridge, through protocol, just to reconvene at sunrise. Their Broyles was a forward thinker, yet nothing but an amateur compared to their Astrid; the woman had already pulled up a list of hotels and accommodation in this rural region (despite Olivia's overnighter here having stood at only a 15% chance). _Ranked by both security and convenience_ , Olivia learned, although whether hers or that of the other universe, or maybe the Mothman himself, she didn't find out.

In any case, Bridget's Inn couldn't have been ranked by mini-bar. Olivia didn't even hate the décor of the place; there was something to be said about boar skulls on the walls -- preferably behind the back of the landlady -- but the lack of liquor was off-putting out here in the country, where the quiet was likely to wake her up at night.

Either reading her mind, or having seen her forlorn face after opening that fridge door -- probably the former -- Lincoln smirked and said, "I have an idea. C'mon."

Guys his age shouldn't be quite this bouncy, Olivia thought. "We don't have much time before getting up again at six."

"We don't need much." He slowed down, waited until she'd fallen into step with him. He threw her a sideways glance, gave her one of these boyish smiles. "I know towns like Point Pleasant. There's bound to be a roadside bar."

He wasn't wrong. The place he found with male intuition, or possibly experience, stocked Maker's 46, and while Lincoln and she stood out like -- well, like Feds in a rural region not known for any special affinity to Washington -- the bartender kept their tumblers well-filled and didn't ask questions.

Unlike Olivia, who felt much more mellow now, and also curious. "So how come your Broyles changed his mind and was suddenly happy to send your Olivia across to discuss the Machine with Walter?"

Lincoln shifted on his barstool, seemingly too fascinated by his reflection in the large mirror across from them. "I may have talked to him and suggested it. Mountain, Muhammad. You know."

Not a bad reason; for while Walter might hate Fauxlivia, he hated unsolved riddles even more, and that woman had unique insights from her time over here...not to mention from sending them away from the truth in expanding spirals.

It just wasn't the whole reason. Olivia didn't think of herself as presumptuous, but Lincoln Lee had been far from shy. "I find it hard to believe this all-expenses trip with me into the hinterlands was just because you were one partner short."

Lincoln laughed. "Hey, I'm two partners short. It really cramps my style." The expression on his face shifted. He looked at her, his body sloping slightly toward her. "The truth is, I read your casefiles --"

"The redacted versions."

"-- just as as you read ours, and the Bigfoot case stood out."

Olivia stared at him with what she just _knew_ was one of her more worried expressions. "They didn't redact the part with the hedge shears, the fruit-roll-ups, and the matchbox?"

His wicked grin was answer enough. "Not that I had to read your file to know you're a great agent, especially when I'm with you."

The phrasing took her by surprise; the sentiment was true enough. "You're used to her. You know her. And think you know me."

Lincoln ran a hand through his hair, and for a moment she wanted to as well: just to test how much product was holding it up like this, of course. "It's more than that; you --" he broke off, searching her face for something she couldn't begin to fathom. "You're more than this foundation of nature with nurture accounting for deviations."

Olivia would have laughed at that; it was a corny line, even with its psychoanalytical veneer, but his voice had been oddly serious. She returned his gaze. At this late hour, his stubble was more pronounced, the slight, sleepy redness around his eyes only making their colour pop. "Can I ask you a personal question on that topic?"

He blinked, then smiled. "Anything. Well, I may not answer immediately, but you'll undoubtedly work it out of me eventually, so go right ahead."

"Do you -- do you also like men?"

Okay, that one he hadn't expected. His expression was almost worth this tiny betrayal on her side of the universe, at least for the split second it took him to relax again and smile an easy little smile. "I did...date this guy back in college. Craig was his name. Tutored him after Professor Miller had asked. The actual physics didn't really take, but Craig gave --"

"Too much information." Olivia laughed, and fine, now she was a little embarrassed. Another sip of her whiskey helped, though. "You know why I ask in this context. Don't make me elaborate."

"Because of Lincoln Lee v. 2, now with added nerd. Liv told me." A nod, definitely interested. He tapped his fingers against the glass in a slow tip-tippety-tip rhythm. "Pretty fascinating. In any case, the answer would be a theoretical yes even for me, I guess. If I met someone -- that kind of someone." He picked up his glass and lifted it, and Olivia didn't have it in her to disappoint him.

She clinked her whiskey glass against his, gently, caught his gaze and held it. "Let's get back to the inn."

"See, I knew you'd say that eventually."

Olivia had expected that; she hadn't expected it would make her smile. That he would make her smile.

::

A few steps from the door to their lodgings, Olivia made sure to break their little lock-step. It was only natural that Lincoln would be attuned to the length of her strides, not to mention that no agent -- FBI or Fringe, probably even CIA -- worth his badge would have missed how mindful he was of Fauxlivia. He would have walked evenly beside her in six-inch heels as well as moon-boots. But.

"My stop." Olivia pointed to the door to her room, and maybe her gesture was a bit apologetic after all. She bit her lip, studied the wooden planks of the porch they were standing on for a moment. The simple truth of the matter was that she wasn't his Liv; she had a whole other world to take care of, and also her own Lincoln Lee grieving and still more than half in love with a man who was gone forever.

"Good night, then," Lincoln said, amiably and so five feet away that she did glance up to check. He lifted his hands at her expression, his smile a white flag waved enthusiastically. "Hey, I'm not in the habit of begging. Or harassing my partners. Because that'd be a dick move."

Olivia almost-but-not-quite snorted at that. She wanted to reply too -- respond with something at once mocking and friend-like. But she had never cared for, and thus never been good at witty banter, not with partners, and not with men, or women, for that matter. "Good night, Agent Lee."

The door of her inn room fell shut behind her, and automatically Olivia's hands reached for the doorknob and the little button to lock it. Outside, to the side, she heard the corresponding _snick_ of Lincoln's door closing. Olivia breathed out, slowly. Breathed in again. She was not impulsive.

Most of the time.

What the hell. And if that inner voice sounded a little bit like Fauxlivia, so be it. She opened the door again -- looked around, at the hills and forests, because this was just the time for that Mothman to show up. Her fingers slipped on his doorknob, once. Olivia squared her shoulders, balled her right fist, and used it to rap her knuckles against the red wood. "Lincoln?"

There was movement behind his door, and then it opened again. He'd taken off his leather jacket -- ridiculous, she'd thought at first, just like Fauxlivia's too cool for school biker outfit -- and was clad only in a tight-fitting blue t-shirt. His feet were bare, peeking out from under the hem of his cargo pants. She dragged her eyes up again.

"Turns out maybe I am." Which wasn't very funny at all, but he still grinned, gratifyingly. Rocking back on his heels, he motioned her inside. "I'd offer you drinks from the mini-bar, but we both know that's a useless endeav --"

So that shut him up effectively: her mouth on his, swift but gentle, just a brush across. Just a taste (that she liked). She didn't even have to crane her neck at all; he was right there. Olivia drew back but didn't lift her fingers from where they were curled around his biceps again; they felt right there too. But she did search his eyes. "You do want this, right?"

He sputtered a little at that, but his fingers touching her cheek and his other hand sliding gently around to the small of her back were steady. "Yeah." He leaned in, touched his forehead to hers. Breathed her in. She shivered and for a moment had to suppress a nervous giggle. But Lincoln's eyes had already fluttered shut; for once he was not watching her. Easier then, to close the last of the distance and put her lips to his again. His mouth tasted faintly of whiskey. Deeper inside: amber and honey. He kissed her so carefully, as if she might break.

 _No_ , Olivia thought with perfect clarity, _as if this is the one and only time, and he has to make the most of it_. And she wanted Lincoln to not think that. Wanted him.

She nudged him gently backwards, and could feel him smile against her mouth. "Pushy," he whispered, barely audible over the sound of her hammering heart. He sounded pleased. Her shiver was a full-blown tremble now, but that was okay; Lincoln was clearly happy to lace his fingers with hers, help her strip him of his shirt, open his pants and pull them down, away -- along with his boxer shorts. Naked, he was as gorgeous as she hadn't quite dared to imagine yet; slim but strong, perfectly sized, and had she mentioned the happy too? Crawling over him -- careful not to knee him between the legs; that'd not be so good right now -- she kissed him again, one hand stroking circles on his chest, one closing around his cock, its tip already slippery. Lincoln gasped at her first experimental stroke; and oh, this wasn't so difficult after all. Simple, too, to get undressed herself, assisted more than capably. Lincoln's fingers tight around her back and his tongue on her nipple made her utter her first sound. Not the last, either; Lincoln had felt good between her fingers but felt even better inside her. Olivia finally, finally closed her eyes, and opened her mouth.

::

They ended up finding the Mothman, capital letter. Without even having to resort to hedge shears, fruit roll-ups, or matchboxes. When Olivia walked back under her own bright blue sky, she wasn't sore from the fight with the creature. And she sure as hell wasn't about to even start missing one certain spiky-haired Lincoln Lee.

Nor, as long as the Bridge existed, let him miss her.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for the for the [Fringe Kinkmeme](http://fringe-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/). Beta thanks to the ever-sublime [Zip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/pseuds/ziparumpazoo).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mothman - An Addendum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/272116) by [ziparumpazoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/pseuds/ziparumpazoo)




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